Things will fall apart; yes
the centre will not hold; no
it won’t.

Tails tucked between glistening thighs
those who feed robust to bursting
on the flagged downtrodden will
of the commonwealth; who with
furious frantic digging digits
and remorseless dedication
plunder the communal till dry.

Tails tucked amidst glistening thighs
you will sweat though the air
be cool as rain’s welcome touch
constant gazing over streaming back

You will scarper, hustling, helter
and scamper, certainly, skelter.

You will flee the fearful flight
of the timorous trepid weak
to the obscurity of islands far-flung
stacked wide with your plentiful plunder.

Paranoid dread: of the faceless
assassin’s deadly hurtling lead;
of the innocuous prick of friendly
umbrella’s blunted tip; of
deadly tip over island’s brink;
of delightful eyeful
savours of innocent sumptuous
feast and the sinister lurking of
noxious toxicity behind the glitz.

Paranoid dread: of
lush green grasses that may
harbour pervading stinging venom
of slimy serpents slithering beneath;
of the tranquil peace of Nature’s woods
of wise old trees that keep deadly secrets:
poisonous sap; a paid human hidden away.

The peace shall depart your calculous
callous head; your deep long throats, bulbous
bulging bellies and capricious hearts bursting with greed.


Assiduously sidling tendrils
of jungle justice will journey over seas
over land through air to snarl you
to suffocation.

Your heartmuscles will heed the gently simmering
cymbals of Dread
and race Death, heaving, obscene pulsing,
to a close finish.

You will scarper, hustling, helter
and scamper, certainly, skelter

Things will fall apart; yes
the centre will not hold; no
it won’t.



  1. Yes! The center certainly not hold.
    Sticky-finger politicians be on the alert. The sneeking fingers of justice emanating from the souls of the robbed will creap up to you mansions in Venice,Benize Island, cayman’s island,Solomon’s island,paris, etc to demand, just like Shylock, for a permanent,eventual and final justice.

  2. I tweeted “Guys, yesterday I cried in the dark and wrote a poem. That pardon matter got to me.” this morning. Heard the news of the pardon while in the process of writing an essay on extra-judicial and unconstitutional here-and-theres in the Nigerian habitat.

    I do not care for man or god but in the darkness yesternight with tears condensed on my lashes in sadness I wrote a poem.

    We died again
    The tales will not linger?
    We die again
    Our breaths caught, flicker, linger
    for a while as wool, suspended, vanishing
    and we die again

    We died again
    for to be forgotten is why
    We die again
    These jerk-ing feet, smile-ing beast
    with clothes that stride is drop of moisture in Sun
    and we die again

    We died again
    and since men shall eventually
    wheeze, die again
    teach your sons and your sons
    their sons that our gods abhor not the thief so
    let them thief for even if

    We died again
    Our community of gods shall sip blood from gourds
    We die again
    and with their friends pardon us our
    sins even if we ripped my neighbour limb by limb
    and we die again, again

    limb by limb

  3. The storm is still coming, no? Yes? Will we bathe when it rains or we’ll continue to watch spring in other proactive Nations? These are some of the questions I still ask. Maybe my Oga at the Top can help. If only I could get to him..

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